Dust in the wind

We are only dust in the wind,
the song used to say,
and it's true, I may
think about every day.

Day after day, gone
are the guns to Navarone.
A bridge too far, a dream too near,
a life to live without fear.

Nothing is left to the right, on sight,
Nothing is right to the left,
Petty theft, Time robbing us blindly
Even in the mirror, sight is unsightly.

And there, at the end of time
it may be a treasure,
yours or mine, karma,
what an interesting concept,
with nothing to prove,
no move, just silence.
Not even a fence,
protecting us from the Underworld.

Or that I was told.